


Inclined.

by rubyyong



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 04:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16674370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyyong/pseuds/rubyyong
Summary: Description: Being offered a new job in the city meant a new apartment, but the one you were given by your new employer was far from pretty. Amidst assessing the shambles your place was left in, you quickly discover your neighbour is a handyman.





	Inclined.

**Author's Note:**

> Neighbour AU with Handyman!Jungwoo + Teacher!Reader.
> 
> Warnings: (Neither character is entirely dom nor sub), profanities, workplace bullying, descriptive smut; dry-humping, penetrative sex, oral sex (female receiving).

A fresh start. New job, new apartment, new city.

New faces to become familiar with, that was the most exciting part.. Right?

Upon arrival to your new place of residency you’re beaming with excitement, bubbled over in curiosity at the change of scenery.

You’d lived along the country your whole life. Born, raised and educated up in one of the rural parts of the state. You’d never considered teaching high-schoolers would bring you an opportunity to move to the city. So when you received a phone call offering you the position of head of 9th grade, you were absolutely speechless.

Your small school of 200 students was visited by a prestigious headmaster deciding upon a transfer recipient. A teacher from the countryside was essential in making their school appear more multi-cultural - all staff were informed during a meeting.

You were the best pick among the minuscule staff board of ten members. Most of your colleagues had families, children and partners they were reluctant to pick up and move. You on the other hand, were more than willing.

You had enjoyed your position back home, but it grew to become lacklustre. There was no where left for you to move up, and that fact had suffocated you for the past two years.

You made the extensive journey down to the city with great difficulty. Your car wasn’t exactly up to ship-shape since you’d rarely use it, let alone for such a great distance. You’d broken down about halfway and the lack of mobile reception left you waiting by the side of the road for a jump-start that came 2 hours later from a car full of friendly girls, substantially younger than you.

The building you had arrived at was tall, taller then you’re used to seeing. It had been years since your last visit out of your hometown, and it seemed the towers had only grown in height in that time. Seeming to almost touch the clouds.

You make your way to the front entrance, explaining your arrangement to the manager with ease. She had been waiting for you to arrive and happily handed your key over as she showed you up to your floor.

3rd floor, not too high up, apartment 25.

You thank the polite manager and turn to your door, unlocking it with excited and shaking fingers.

But the happiness stops there.

When you swing the door open, what you’re faced with is the ugliest welcoming gift you’d ever received. Discoloured carpet, ripped wallpaper and furniture so filthy, you wouldn’t be surprised if you found that they were rotting.

The only solace you find is in the bulb above that lights up upon an experimental flick of the light switch. The sun is setting beyond the windows as you peel back the outdated floral curtains, enjoying the view of the large park that sits across from the building.

You don’t know what to tackle first, truthfully. You only have a few days until you start your new job, and you definitely won’t have time to fix this place up once you begin working. You push all thoughts of remodelling to the back of your mind as you continue looking through the rest of the place.

Your bedroom is mediocre, it’s of decent size and the mattress is free of the same stains the couch and carpet are littered in. The dark chest of drawers along the wall is large and accommodating, and you conclude that the bedroom is the only room that's been shown any care in recent years.

The bathroom - you decide - is the worst part of the apartment. The tiles are full of grime and the shower head is littered with lime-scale and rust. There’s a spider-web in the top corner of the ceiling and one of the cupboard doors below the sink is hanging half-off.

You furrow your brows in disappointment with a tired sigh, making note to spend tomorrow fixing what you can as you warm the water up before you step in. Only when you undress and move to stand under the water - you yelp at the temperature.

You fiddle with the taps as best you can, little squeals that you can’t help but let out as each freezing minute passes to no avail. You eventually give up, quickly rinsing and stepping out to wrap yourself in your favourite robe, shivering as your body adjusts to the wild temperature change.

As you try to regain body warmth in the middle of your stale-smelling bedroom, a series of loud knocks on your front door echo throughout your empty apartment. A soft gasp falling from your lips at the sheer volume.

You clutch the collar of your robe as you step toward the door, peeking through the peep-hole to find a tall stranger with his head down. You swallow thickly and sweep some of the droplets of water that have trailed down your forehead away as you unlock the door.

When you hesitantly swing it open, there’s a soft gasp before you see him. A boy with dark coloured hair falling into his eyes, his lips slightly pursed as he stands with fidgety hands. A reflective work uniform catching your eye as you pull your gaze from his dirty work boots.

“Hello?” You ask, an unsure tone to the greeting, your body half-hidden behind the door. “Hi,” he offers, with a soft voice to contradict his appearance. “Uh,” he scratches at the back of his head. “Did you just hear some screaming?”

You huff quietly and look away, embarrassed. “I uh... Sorry about that. I couldn’t get the hot water to work.” You explain. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I thought something serious had happened,” he breathes in relief, a small smile coming to grace his lips.

"I’m sorry, again”, you offer, “I just moved in and I think I may need to fix the water system.” You explain. He nods, "I was just startled is all.” He shrugs.

“I understand,” you nod, flustered and still embarrassed over the stranger having heard your dramatic squeals of horror. “Just remember how thin the walls are next time, yeah?” He adds with a tight smile before walking off. His boots scuffing against the floor with each step.

When you close the door you can’t help but chuckle to yourself. Not only over your screams having been heard, but the string of filthy profanities you had let out during.

You spend the next day cleaning, dusting and disinfecting all the basic surfaces of the apartment. You win a battle with a common house spider, and also discover only your stove works in your humble kitchen. Your oven serving more purpose as a light than anything else.

The musty scent that lingered previously, was now a mere memory as you spent the day with all windows opened to air out the place. Something you once again suspect, hadn’t been done in years.

When it comes time for a shower, you have a great reluctance to do so. But the cleaning chemicals permeating off your skin tell you it’s greatly needed.

You take a few deep breaths to encourage yourself, already shivering due to the Winter chill across your unheated apartment. When you step under the faucet, you immediately stiffen. Your body going frigid with the harsh drop in temperature.

You scrub your skin as quick as you can, suds flying all around the tiles as you move quicker with each passing second. Turning to let the water cascade down your back is the worst part, you think. The pained squeak you let out, bouncing off the wall as you decide to get out.

When you wrap yourself in your towel you begin to melt immediately, hugging the fluffy cotton to your body as you shiver in your spot. The tiles ice-cold beneath your bluing toes.

It’s only a few minutes later, when you’re dressed in warm pyjamas and waiting for your kettle to boil, that you hear a round of spaced-out knocks at your door. You scurry over to the door and curse when you see the same stranger through your peep-hole. Your neighbour who looks exhausted and moody, and less forgiving than the previous day.

When you open the door hesitantly, you sigh when you meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” you offer before he can speak.

He makes a noise in his throat, bordering on a whine. “I was trying to sleep, I heard screaming again.” He explains, his voice thick with sleep. You take in his casual clothes as you stand before him, trying not to curl in on yourself out of guilt. “Look, I start a new job next week. I can have it fixed by then, okay?”

He sighs and nods, a yawn that he doesn’t bother to cover escaping his lips. “So I won’t be getting a decent sleep until then?”

You giggle at his remark, gathering yourself once you take in his lack of amusement. Clearing your throat. “I’ll definitely try to keep it down.” As though he’s disorientated and still half-asleep, he walks off without another word. Leaving you feeling bitter-sweet over the interaction.

You wake the next morning with a small sniffle and a headache, which quickly progress into a fully fledged cold by the time evening comes along. You’re coughing incessantly, your throat is terribly itchy and your voice breaks with each squeak you fail to hold back during your short shower.

When you’re interrupted from your new hobby of coughing your lungs up - with the same knocks you’ve been greeted with every day since you moved in - you get up to answer them with a groan. Your head pounding heavily with each step.

You adjust your creased pyjamas and run a tissue under your nose once more before opening the door, sighing when you find your neighbour. You take note that he hardly wears anything other than his work uniform when you gaze upon his arms, crossed in a tank-top that’s incredibly inappropriate for how cold it is tonight.

When he takes in your appearance, the crease in his brows disappear. The tissue in your grasp and the nasal whine you let out are more than enough to tell him how sick you are. The muffled coughs he had grown tired of listening to, now making perfect sense.

“Yes?” You sniffle, your voice so raspy and raw that he almost regrets coming over to interrupt. He closes his eyes briefly, a loud sigh leaving his lips. “One minute,” he says before taking off. Leaving you confused as you stand in your doorway, slightly dazed.

He returns shortly after, making an awful lot of noise that has you wincing in response. A toolbox relaying clambering metal sounds throughout the cramped hallway as he appears in front of you once again. “Let me fix your water system,” he offers, with an adamant nod as if to encourage the offer.

You furrow your brows as you gaze upon the bright ruby-coloured toolbox. “I’m sick, don’t come in here,” you shake your head in refusal, a small cough tickling at the back of your throat. He scoffs at this, “You’re sick because you’re taking cold showers in the middle of Winter, just... Let me fix your system, it’s my job.”

You shake your head, “I don’t have that kind of money.” He nods, “I know.” And a wave of embarrassment washes over you. “So what do you want?” When he shrugs you sigh and invite him in anyway, thinking far too much about the possibility of enjoying a hot shower by the end of the night more than anything else.

Your neighbour - Jungwoo as he introduces himself - adjusts your hot water system for you. Playing around with the pipes and making an awful racket from where you’re laid, snuggled into your bed. He enters your room from the connecting bathroom, wiping black grease onto his bright orange shirt as he assures you it’s all fixed.

You only believe him when he brings you over and sticks your hand under the stream of warm water coming from your sink faucet. Pleased with himself when he gazes upon the smile that tugs on your cracked lips.

He takes in the rest of your apartment as he works - he can’t help it. He notices your stained carpet, filthy grout and bubbled wallpaper and takes note of how similar it looks to his apartment when he first moved in. Before he had fixed it all up.

You explain to him your reason for your move, your new position as head of 9th grade impressing him enough to get a small eyebrow raise from the boy.

He in turn tells you about his job as an all-rounder, handyman. Zipping from one end of the city to the other in an hour if it meant a good enough pay. The 20 year old apprentice who leaves you dumbfounded when he offers to fix the rest of your apartment for you.

“I was wondering if you want some help fixing up your walls?” He asks. No trace of emotion on his face, clear enough for you to read. “I’m a professional when it comes to restoring wallpapered walls.” He adds in, as if trying to sell himself. You hum in thought for a moment, beginning to relent. “Okay, but!” You wag a finger at him, “I already told you, I don’t have any money.” He nods slowly, talking from behind his glass of water as he takes a swig. “I know.”

You’re seated with him at your humble dining table. The small pizza you offered as payment already half-eaten by the starved boy as he stares incessantly at a dark stain in the carpet below. You’re shocked by the short time it takes for him to finish his meal. And when he leaves with the empty box, you thank him repeatedly for his work on his way out.

For the price of a greasy pizza, you enjoy the first of many hot showers from that night on.

The next day Jungwoo brings his tools over, laying a drop sheet down before he starts his work. He begins preparing the walls, using a garment steamer to moisten the glued wallpaper to ease the removal.

“Can I help?” You ask feeling helpless, watching droplets of sweat form along his brow as steam billows around him. He uses a gloved hand to wipe the sweat away, panting lightly as he looks to you. “I have an extra scraper in the toolbox,” he points to the metal box sitting atop your dining table.

You pick up the tool and start scraping under his guidance, stopping to blow your nose every now and then. Your appetite had returned, and the hot showers had opened up your throat a little but as for the sniffles. They were never-ending.

Once you’ve both peeled off the chipped paper, with blisters forming along your fingers. He promises to be back whenever he has free time next to paint for you, leaving only with a refrigerated leftover box of Mongolian noodles as payment.

It seems before you know it, Monday has come around. And you find yourself trembling with exited jitters as you drive to your new place of employment. The relatively short journey takes you a good half hour, largely due to your inexperience with major traffic jams and how to avoid the routes. However when you find that you arrive just in time for the morning staff meeting - the relief you feel is cathartic.

You’d visited the building during the weekend to familiarise yourself with the route, receiving a brief talk from the principal while you were there. But you still hadn’t gotten over the large scale of the property. The shiny-glass windows and modern architecture. Even the clean, cream-coloured bricks beneath your shoes catch your eye.

The principal gives you a brief on what you’d already discussed during your previous visit, leading you to your classroom to introduce you to your new students for the year. You come to find settling in easier than you’d originally thought. Your class is full of mostly polite students who you find, are much more interested in your slight accent than talking over you and causing trouble.

You seat the students alphabetically and even make a point of letting them out of class, 5 minutes early at the end of the day. After all, making a good first impression makes all the difference.

When you return home to find Jungwoo painting your living room, you drop your handbag in surprise. He turns to you with a light-hearted chuckle upon hearing your gasp, “Did I scare you?” He teases, tilting his head with a proud smile.

You sigh and bend over to pick up the bag, closing the door behind you. “How long have you been here?” You ask, taking note of how clean the walls now look. The elegant white you picked out brightening up the room, strong paint fumes wafting throughout the air, causing you to shield your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Most of the afternoon,” he replies, wiping his hands onto his shirt. “I’m nearly done, I think.” He explains as you go over to open the windows.

“I was about to order some food, do you want some?” You mention, walking over and digging your phone out of your handbag. He hums, stroking his paintbrush along the newly-repaired skirting boards. “What’re we getting?” You hum in contemplation. You two had come to share every take-away food within a mile vicinity, the options without repeating now small. “Do you like Vietnamese?” You eventually come to ask. He nods, “Love it.”

You nod to yourself and order an array of the cheapest dishes for you two to share, putting the phone down with a whine when you’re told about the long wait. “Hm? What is it?” Jungwoo asks monotonously, his concentration on the detailing brush in his hand. “It’ll be ready in an hour, I’m already starving.” You whine, and he smiles to himself at the sound.

Sometimes he asks himself how someone so playful could be a high-school teacher. He dares to wonder what your students would think if they saw your plushie collection sitting atop of your bed. You on the other-hand, had slowly grown accustomed to seeing Jungwoo so often. Whether it be good or bad, he was the face you knew best in this city of strangers.

You watch him work from your kitchen counter, bored as you lean your head on your palm with a pout and a growling belly. “Can I help?” You quiz, and Jungwoo pauses to turn to you, looks you up and down and shakes his head. The white button down and stone-coloured pencil skirt, tight around your hips. “Not in that.”

You scoff, “I don’t mind getting a little dirty.” You happily reply as roll your sleeves past your forearms, joining him on his knees and picking up a brush from beside him. ’That’s not the problem,’ he almost says. Cursing internally as he tears his eyes away from the revealing slit up the side of your skirt. He lifts his gaze from the taste of revealed skin to your face instead, your tongue poking out against your lips in concentration as you study the lines you’re painting.

“Jungwoo,” you call. His lips part at the sound, thinking he had been caught he drops his gaze and feigns innocence. “Hm?” He hums, sweetly. “Why are you helping me with all of this?” You question, eyes still on your work.

There’s so many things he wants to say;

I’m lonely.

I get yelled at all day and you’re the only person who makes me feel human any more.

I actually quite like you

He clears his throat, “It’s my job,” he simply retorts. You huff, slightly frustrated by his vague answer. “I know, but I’m not paying you for it.”

“I think being paid in food is fine,” he shrugs. You pause at this, lifting your gaze to his. “Do you really?” You ask, unbelieving of his answer. “I like it,” he mutters, more sincerity in his tone. “You show me appreciation and... I guess I've become a little dependant upon that.”

When you let out a small giggle he looks to you confused, a feeling of rejection threatening to settle in. “So you help me because I show appreciation?” You ask, waving your brush about. He sighs heavily, “Forget it, if you’re going to make fun of m-”

“No!” You jump to defend, “I just think it’s ridiculously adorable of you.” You admit, taking in the way his face slowly flushes a tinge of pink. Jungwoo doesn’t reply, just continues painting with his heart beating loudly in his ears. Wondering if it’s possible you can hear it pick up when you let out little noises of protest, or when you accidentally catch stray droplets of paint on your exposed forearms and turn to him with little whines.

The rest of the week goes by swimmingly. You’ve adjusted to the routine of the staff members, and enjoy getting closer to other teachers. You even start deciphering some of the slang the younger teenagers use amongst one another.

When Saturday comes around, it’s just turned 9am when Jungwoo knocks on your door. As he sits across from you at your dining table for two, he sips at the coffee you made him and explains the process of replacing your carpet.

“I have two colleagues coming around to help, we have to rip it up and get rid of it all. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found mould breeding underneath.”

“What about the replacement carpet?” You enquire as you mirror his position, two hands cupping the glossy rose mug. He hums, swallowing the warm drink. “I picked out something I think you’ll like. White and fluffy, it’ll feel like you’re walking on a cloud.” He says with a satisfied smile, “Look like one too.”

You let out a groan, “But you know how clumsy I am Jungwoo, I’d probably stain it with something within a day.”

“You can just call me over to remove the stain,” he replies teasingly, to which you snicker at.

When Jungwoo’s colleagues turn up, they mutter a small greeting before they begin moving around your furniture. Tall and gruff-looking with stubble and plaited bracelets. They push your beaten-up sofa into your bedroom and your small dining table goes into the kitchenette. Where you’re lead to sit atop the island as you watch them tear up the soiled carpet.

The two strangers are at opposite ends to Jungwoo, each respectively rolling up metre-long bundles of carpet before carrying them out the door and down to their awaiting truck.

“Jungwoo, no. Kid, you’re not using enough muscle.” The older looking one of the strangers complains, and it’s then that you remember him mentioning he’s only done this twice before. “Not that you have any to use, by the looks of it.” He mutters under his breath. You furrow your brows when all Jungwoo does is nod and try harder, gritting his teeth and scrunching his nose in a manner you find childish and adorable. But his colleague doesn’t.

He nudges the younger looking stranger and they laugh in unison. Pointing at the way Jungwoo screws his face up with each forceful tear he makes with his knife. You see him trying to ignore it, trying to pretend he doesn’t hear it. But all it does is aggravate you further, pushing you to a breaking point.

“You two, are you actually helping or not?” You complain from where you’re sat, finding your voice. They lift their gazes to yours immediately, offended and confused. “Excuse me, miss?” The first stranger asks.

“He’s doing all the work, you’re just joking around in the corner.” You shake your head for dramatic effect when you catch Jungwoo’s attention, “I don’t think he really needs any help.” With a scoff, one of them stands. “What are you? His Mother?” The older man comments, making the other chuckle childishly.

Jungwoo stands at this, giving up hope that the little tiff will blow over. “Leo, come on. Calm down.” He says calmly, laying a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “You know,” the other one points toward you with a jut of his chin. “You’re pretty decent looking when you’re not complaining.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes at his comment. Watching Jungwoo come to your defence as he moves toward the accuser. “Watch your mouth Lucas,” Jungwoo warns tightly, the younger boy smirking at the effect his comment had. “Or what?” He challenges. Sliding his tongue over his teeth and arching a brow. The older man grunts, clearing his throat. “Keep it civil, Jungwoo.”

Jungwoo’s patience snaps at the unfair comment, turning from a smirking Lucas toward the door. “Out,” he points toward the exit. “Jungwoo,” he pauses. “If you do this there’s no more jobs for you,” the older man confronts him. His nicotine-riddled breath causing Jungwoo to grimace, but he stands his ground. His eyes glued to the floor as he waits for the pair to heed his words.

With eyes, dark and blaring they relent. Albeit reluctant. They pack up their things noisily and haphazardly, muttering curses under their breath. “We’re equal now, we don’t owe you fuck all after this,” Lucas mentions. Jungwoo shakes his head, adamantly. “I’m not working with you again, I’m better on my own.”

A bellyful of laughs erupt from the older man, “Better on your own? Hardly, kid. I taught you everything you know.” He chuckles breathlessly, patting Jungwoo’s shoulder. “Well, you know my number.” With the final comment they leave and the silence that remains is deafening. What begun as a day of excitement had regrettably become the opposite.

“So... You just quit?” You hop off the counter to go to Jungwoo’s side, standing a small distance from him. He nods, running a hand through his hair as he turns to you, his eyes almost vacant. "I don’t recall a time in the 7 months that I've worked with them, that I've ever been paid on time.” He huffs, “It was only a matter of time.”

You watch as he drags the toe of his boot along the bared floorboards, gathering his thoughts. ”They helped me out today as repayment for not paying me last week,” he sighs, his eyes scanning every inch of the carpet. “Shit I- I usually hold my tongue around them, but when they came at you I just-”

His eyes find yours, and the darkness behind them startles you slightly. He licks his lips, huffs a little before he encases you in a warm hug. “I’ve never had someone stick up for me like that, Y/N,” he mutters, muffled into your shoulder. “Thankyou.”

The expanse of your fingers cling to the warm skin of his back, seeping through his sweat-drenched shirt. “You’re welcome, Jungwoo.” You sigh, nestling into the warmth of his skin. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, the steady rhythm eventually syncing up with yours as time passes.

You increasingly become affected by the hot breaths fanning against your neck, the way he holds you so tightly warming you the same heated temperature within.

When he ghosts his lips over the skin of your neck, the softness is feather-light. A gentle sigh leaving your lips as they linger on your skin. “Can I kiss you?” He mutters, hushed against your skin. “Yes, please,” you whisper in return.

He lifts his head and you turn yours to his, catching his lips as you move forward. His lips are moist from his tongue constantly running over them, plump from always being chewed on and persistent for the longing he’d always had to kiss you.

You’re quick to reciprocate, because just as he had longed to kiss you, you had longed for the same. His hands come up to frame your face as he drinks from you, his tongue incessant in its movements against yours. Licking into your mouth with such fervour, you raise on your toes to get closer to him.

He grunts slightly, pulling back to suck your bottom lip into his mouth. He smells warm, musky and mixed with his natural scent in a way that enchants you further with each passing moment. He tastes of the coffee and biscuits you had shared that morning, the muted bitterness and soft sweetness mixing on your tongues as you lose your breath. The soft kisses he pulls from you encouraging the heat that flushes your face hot.

He breathes your name, panting as he backs you against the nearest wall. Stepping over a hammer as if it was nothing but a feather beneath his steel capped boot. He peppers feverish kisses along your cheek and down to your jaw as he slides a calloused hand up your thigh. “Jungwoo,” you breathe, although it comes out as more of a moan as he squeezes the plush flesh. “No,” you say, putting a stop to his advances. Your willingness to comply slightly shocked you, your self control almost fleeting.

He pulls back almost immediately, panting in a manner that matches yours as he runs a hand through his hair. An action you’d come to associate with the boy. He nods to himself, almost dazed. “Of course,” he says, lips bitten red and cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“It’s fine,” you assure him, thumbing at the corner of your lips. You had been just as much to blame as he was, in all honesty. You share an awkward round of chuckles as you collect yourselves. “So.. The carpet,” you start, swallowing thickly. Acting as though you weren’t seconds away from abolishing the underlying tension between you two, moments earlier.

He nods, “It’s nearly done.”

You smile brightly, “Can I help?”

As weeks slowly pass and the Winter chill steadily increases, you gradually find your apartment coming together. Jungwoo helps you out with what materials he can, using mostly whatever he has leftover in his work truck to finish the odd jobs.

Once your living room is fixed up, complete with new drapes Jungwoo had picked for you, the colour of dusty rose - your kitchen is next. Jungwoo replaces your faucets and rewires your oven so it actually cooks instead of just having a light with no heat. And you celebrate with a batch of chocolate cookies that don’t come out quite right, but make your apartment smell sweet and inviting regardless.

You relish in the warmth now constantly flooded throughout your apartment, and you love testing your cooking skills on the stove. But your favourite feature is the fluffy carpet you love to walk barefooted across after your hot showers.

When you return from work one day to find the only thing left still needing repair is your bedroom door, you feel bitter-sweet. You had enjoyed coming home to someone waiting for you, enjoyed having someone to share your meals with.

You had shared a home with a fellow teacher back home. But when you moved to the city you didn’t really have to get used to living alone, because it barely felt like you were. Jungwoo was always over, fixing something or eating dinner with you after work. But now that it’s all over, you can’t help but wonder how you’ll cope with the change.

“All done,” Jungwoo smiles happily. Twisting the doorknob in his grasp to test it out. “What about the bathroom?” You test, to which he nods at. “All done, I finished it this morning. All you needed was a new shower-head.” You nod, “Thankyou Jungwoo,” you sigh. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“But you don’t have to,” he assures you adamantly. “Think of it as practice for me, It helped me sharpen my skills,” he says with a sure smile.

With a chuckle you nod, taking in his explanation. “So... You hungry?”

A whole fortnight goes by before you see Jungwoo again. He doesn’t make a single sound on his side of the apartment, nor does he come over to complain when you take up singing in the shower to catch his attention.

So when you purchase a new couch, you use it as an excuse to take charge and invite Jungwoo over. Celebrating with a night spent talking about careers over hot chocolate, during which you reveal that your school was currently seeking a grounds keeper.

Though he didn’t carry much experience in gardening, his natural talent in other areas shone through and he was offered the job upon the entry of his resume.

Although you still felt lonely in your apartment, the small glimpses of him you caught from beyond your classroom window were enough to set you alight with minuscule bursts of happiness.

But when the night came around it was unbearable, and the glimpses of him throughout the day weren’t enough to bring you any relief. Knowing he was on the other side of your bedroom wall, yet neither of you had made a daring move since your feverish kiss weeks prior, was slowly eating away at you.

The unmet desires you held for him drove you wild. Nights spent waking from wet dreams, with heavy breaths and the imagine of Jungwoo and his tousled hair fresh in your mind.

The next day at school you think you’ve gotten lucky when Jungwoo knocks on your classroom door, but alas, he’s only doing his job. “I’m here to replace a light bulb,” he says monotonously, his expression unreadable. You pause, your mouth slightly gaped as you halt your lesson and settle for a nod as you watch him get to work. Occupied with finding the paragraph you were explaining before you were interrupted.

Though your eyes drift to where Jungwoo is folding out a tall ladder, the muscles in his calves defining with each step he takes. Ascending toward the ceiling with a fluorescent light tube in his gloved hand.

“Miss? Are you frozen?” One of your students jokes, causing a round of laughter to roll over the classroom in waves. You chuckle a little to brush it off, catching Jungwoo’s gaze as you clear your throat. “I think you can handle the rest yourself, it’s pretty basic isn’t it?" You ask with a knowing smile.

There’s a small chorus of, “Yes Miss,” in reply, as you move occupy yourself at your desk. You watch Jungwoo as discreetly as you can, behind your weekly planner as you cradle it in your grasp. But it’s all over too soon, and when he leaves a mere three minutes before lunch break, you could almost cry out of frustration.

The remainder of the school day is spent hopelessly trying to catch a glimpse of Jungwoo through your window, to no avail. Your thoughts during the commute home dedicated to him only, deciding how to tackle the frustrating situation. You make your way up to your apartment, flashing a smile to the manager in the loft as you pass her. When you move to unlock your door, you make a note to go over to Jungwoo’s once you’re sure he’s home.

But as you go to close your door behind you, you pause. Having heard Jungwoo’s door slam shut on your left, the sound ringing loud in your ears. You ponder it for a short while before turning on your heel to head over to his apartment. Only when you turn, you’re met with the man himself.

He stands tall, and slightly out of breath before you. His eyes wide and alert. “Jungwoo,” you mutter, above a whisper and sounding as though you’re in awe.

Sweat is peppered along his temples, the scent of dirt and mowed lawn permeating off him. Small patches of muddy brown stains, scattered about on his dark green uniform. “Are you busy?” He asks, eyes trained to your face. You hum, shaking your head. “Not at all.”

Jungwoo takes you out for dinner, to a casual place serving wood-fire pizzas a short drive up the road. A step-up from the greasy delivery style you had paid him in. You both eat quietly, with a silence that sucks up the spontaneity of the date and exchanges it for pure awkwardness.

“Good?” Jungwoo asks, a brow raised in your direction. You flash him a small smile, nodding in response. He pauses for a short while, as if deciding whether or not to eat his crust as he stabs it into the plate before him. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while,” he starts, stuffing the crust into his mouth as though making a point.

You pause and place your own crust down, “What took so long?” You ask quietly, as though not to sound obviously bothered by his timing. He quirks a brow at you, “I’ve been busy,” he defends, holding back an amused grin at your tone. When you roll your eyes, unimpressed, he chuckles. Watching you with a half-smile, his gaze falling to the way your hands fidget in your lap.

“You finished?” He asks, nodding toward your empty plate. “Mhm,” you nod, making a point of pushing it forward. “Want to get out of here?” He asks. When you nod and follow him out the door, you both pause. Standing beneath the awnings of the restaurant as you stare up at the specks of snow falling from above. Jungwoo curses under his breath, “I wanted to take you for a walk,” he chuckles, with a disappointed tut. “Unless you don’t mind the snow?”

You scrunch up your nose at the offer, “I’ll make us some hot chocolate, if you want to come to mine?” He takes note of the lip between your teeth when you ask, your voice soft and inviting. Opposite to the subtle flames lurking in your gaze. He nods, “Sounds good.”

Jungwoo leads you out to his parked truck, the parking lot behind the building nearly empty with the extreme weather. He opens your door first, running over to his side to escape the falling snowflakes as you get in. Once you’re settled, you share a chuckle as you dust yourselves off.

“All good?” Jungwoo asks, tapping his pocket in search of his keys. You nod and try to pull on your seatbelt, an idea coming to mind when it jams on the first tug. “It’s stuck,” you feign with a quiet sigh, turning to Jungwoo with furrowed brows. He tilts his head and leans toward you looking confused, reaching for it himself.

Only when he leans over, you take a hold of his collar and tug him toward you. He lets out a soft grunt at the action, looking slightly dazed. You relish the proximity for a moment, taking in his dishevelled hair, his overall subdued demeanour.

You close the minuscule gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a long-awaited reunion. He lets go of the belt, letting it snap back and steadying himself on his palms as he deepens the kiss. Resting a palm on your thigh as you tug his bottom lip between yours.

He sighs at the motion, melting into your touch as you reach up to frame his face, anchoring his lips to yours as you part them. When your tongues meet you let out a soft moan that has his belly flipping.

He tastes of sweet soda and when you lick at the roof of his mouth, he lets out a small whine. You pull away to reposition yourself so you’re sat in his lap, his back leant against the car door. You grip onto his collar as if for comfort, as you continue the soft kisses. He in turn settles his hands onto your waist, tightening his grip as you trail kisses along his jaw. Admiring the pure softness of his skin against your lips along the way.

He lets his head fall back against the frosted glass as you press wet kisses down his neck, occasionally pressing your teeth along the flesh. When he starts panting, letting out breathy moans, you shift your hips. Soaking up the strained moan he lets out.

The windows have become fogged with condensation, and his windscreen is littered in snowflakes. But your worries are elsewhere when he grapples at your waist, encouraging you to move again.

You repeat the action, rolling your hips lightly in an effort to hear the sound again. When he whispers a small “Yes,” you keep at it. Rolling your hips against his, you let out a satisfied sigh that pulls his gaze from your hips to your eyes.

He watches the way you bite your lip, as you try to hold back your moans. He chuckles breathlessly, gripping your hips. “Let’s get you home,” he says breathlessly, holding you in place in an effort to get you to stop. “Why?” You pant, taking in his sudden composure. He clears his throat, “Because I’m not a teenager and I don’t feel like cumming in my pants.”

You let out a breathy sound akin to a huff in response, as you move to climb off his lap. The dampness of your underwear cooling, as you situate yourself in your seat. Jungwoo doesn’t mention how your seatbelt seems to work smoothly as he takes off, he simply drives you both back to your apartment building without a word. A radio station looping old rock songs, softly playing in the background as you focus on the windshield wipers as a distraction.

When you arrive, you practically drag Jungwoo up to your apartment, pausing with confusion when he tugs you over to his door instead. “Do you have hot chocolate?” You mutter as he ghosts his lips over yours, he hums as he shakes his head. “No, but I have protection,” he whispers.

You moan at his words and practically tumble through his door once he finds his key, clinging onto him as he closes it behind him. Your lips battle to stay together as he blindly leads you to his room, slamming it shut behind him as he moves you toward the bed.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks against your lips, his hands framing your face and yours, distracted with unbuttoning his uniform. You turn him and push him onto the bed, the boy grunting when you move to straddle him. "Yes i’m okay, now stop talking,” you complain.

You press your lips to his, harshly. Pushing his shirt off of his shoulders with eager hands. He sits up to let you tug it from under him, your hands roaming his bare chest once it’s elsewhere. His skin is feather-soft and looking as though he’s drenched in moonlight in the pale glow of his bedside lamp.

He moans into your mouth when you thumb over his nipples, grinding your hips ever so slightly into his crotch. He pulls away suddenly, panting as he sits you up with him. Tugging your shirt upwards, he presses his lips to your chest as you pull it all the way off.

He pulls his mouth off, looking up at you with wide, glossy eyes as he reaches behind to rid you of your bra. You’re breathless, your belly tight in reaction to the duality he displays. Innocent eyes, watching for your reaction as he sucks a perked nipple between his buxom lips.

You exhale shakily, your hands coming up to run through his hair as you melt into his touch. His hot tongue laves cool trails of glistening wetness along your hardened bud, his hands running along your lower back as you squirm against the sensation.

He moans against your breast when you grind your hips into his hardness, growing impatient with his steady pace. “Jungwoo,” you pant, “Please.” He almost whines at your tone of voice, the desperation dripping off of your tongue and coating his eardrums. All he wants is to make you feel good, that’s all he wants.

He wants to take his time with you, there’s no rush for you two. But when he lays you beneath him and you hook your ankles behind his back, the breathy request you rasp in his ear pushes him to decide tonight is an exception.

He tugs off your cranberry coloured skirt, pausing once he sees your underwear. He flashes you a smile at the sight of the little cartoon sheep, muttering a small, “Cute,” as he hooks his fingers into the hem. You huff as he inches them down, slowly. “Just don’t go counting them, the last thing I need right now is for you to fall asleep.” He bites back a laugh at your comment, amused by how impatient you’ve become.

You naturally find yourself in his lap again, stating it was your favoured position upon being asked which you preferred. Once he rolls on a condom, you waste no time. Sinking down onto his cock in an effort to soothe the ache in your belly. The want you had built up for him, finally meeting its end once your thighs meet his in a hot kiss.

“Oh,” you moan lowly, feeling it vibrate deep in your throat. He’s thick and heavy and curved perfectly, throbbing hotly between your snug walls. He pants as he gets used to your tightness. He hadn’t had the most experience and everything about you had him light-headed and dazed.

You slide your arms around his shoulders as you start to move, rolling your hips forward and backward as you play with the hair at his nape. He lets out an elongated groan, resting a hand on your hip as he watches you with hooded eyes.

The moan you let out when you grind your hips dizzies him and he feels his cock twitch in response. Everything about your actions scream desperation to him and he relishes in it. Wrapping an arm around your waist as he changes position.

You find yourself laid on your front, your ass in the air as Jungwoo pushes into you once again. Met with little resistance as you mewl at the sensation of him filling you again, you grasp his sheets in your hands. The ones that are baby blue and flannel and almost as soft as he is.

His thrusts are hard and consistent, and you adore the way you jolt forward with each sharp move of his hips, your nipples brushing against the fuzzy sheets. He’s loud and absolutely ravishes you. His hands roaming your thighs, admiring the softness of the skin on your back and when he moves to grasp one of your breasts, you welcome the touch with a breathy moan.

He fills you again and again and you’re breathless, your toes curled as soft cries pour from your lips in a constant flow. You’re almost there, so close that you can feel it in your belly. He calls your name in a strangled voice, his thrusts slowing in pattern but increasing in depth. “I can’t, I’m not gonna last,” he pants.

You give a heedy whine as he continues his thrusts. The grip he has on your hips tightening as his breaths raise in pitch. “It’s okay,” you breathe, “It’s okay Jungwoo,” you pant breathlessly.

He moans from behind you, a gurgled whine falling from his lips as his hips stutter, eventually stilling. He hunches over your back as he cums, leaving you teetering on the edge of your own orgasm. He moans when he feels you pulsing speedily from where he’s pressed, deep inside you.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, hushed against the skin of your back. Pressing a kiss into the heated skin as he catches his breath. “Don’t be,” you assure him in a calmed tone, but he blushes furiously regardless. He pulls out slowly with a sharp hiss, discarding of the latex before he comes back to where you’re laid. He pulls your hips upwards until you’re kneeling, your cheek pressed to the mattress as you try to gaze back at him.

He runs soft fingertips along your thighs in barely-there touches, your belly dipping as he nears your heat. He presses a kiss to the back of your thigh, so soft and loving that you could almost smile. Almost.

He slides his tongue along the length of your core and you cry out, once he begins, he doesn’t relent. His tongue laving hotly against your clit in short licks, parting your folds so he can sweep up your sweetness onto his tongue.

“Jungwoo,” you moan, “God.”

“You sound so pretty,” he coos, using his thumb to rub circles into your clit while he praises you.

You whine at his words, delirious with pleasure as you feel your belly tighten. “Your mouth, please.” You beg, your voice tight as though you were holding your breath with each word. You practically melt when you feel his mouth again, his lips encasing your clit as he sucks on it. You bury your face into the mattress, moaning incessantly as he sucks, tonguing at your clit from between his lips.

You pant as you approach your high, inching closer and closer until you snap. Lifting your head with a sharp gasp, you let go, cumming with an inward groan and your eyes screwed shut.

Jungwoo languidly rolls his tongue through your folds, licking up the sweetness you’ve spilled over for him while you catch your breath. Only stopping when you lift a hand to push him away weakly. You spread yourself out atop his sheets with a happy sigh, utterly sated.

He comes to lay beside you, a small smile etching its way onto his face when you open your eyes and gaze to him. You mirror the smile, a happy giggle bubbling up in the back of your throat when he chuckles.

You don’t speak. Instead you move to him, laying your head on his chest as you snuggle into his figure. He welcomes the cuddle with a warm arm, draped along your shoulder as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

It’s only when you’re drifting off with your limbs entangled and the sound of his soft breaths calming you, that you remember that promised hot chocolate.

Three months had passed since you and Jungwoo had leisurely moved forward in your relationship. You had brought him to your hometown and introduced him to your closest friends during school holidays, and you were surprised to find they had taken to Jungwoo rather quickly, leaving you feeling slightly neglected in the meantime. Much to his amusement.

He had introduced you to the boy who lived on the other side of him, Sicheng, a friendly businessman who spent months away from his apartment at a time. Finally giving you an explanation as to why Jungwoo was so startled when he heard all your noise on his usually quiet floor.

Jungwoo had come over while you were up one cold night grading assessments, pulling your concentration away to watch an international soccer game on your couch. When the game ends hours later, the weather is noticeably cooler with the time of night. The ends of your fingertips chilled when you decide upon a late-night shower.

You stand under the water, lathering your hair in honey-scented shampoo when the water turns chilled, ripping a pained screech from your throat. You scrunch your eyes up in an effort to keep soap out of them, when you feel the water slowly melt you back to warm temperature. The sounds of your taps squeaking as they’re adjusted.

“Again?” You hear Jungwoo tut, you rinse off your face and turn to poke your tongue out at him. “You did it, didn’t you?” You teasingly accuse him. He scoffs, “Your system is faulty, remember?” He says with raised brows, his hands occupied with collecting a squirt of conditioner. You hum, “My handyman keeps it faulty, so he can use it as an excuse to come over fix it.”

He chuckles at this, rubbing the conditioner into the ends of your hair. “Is that so?” You nod, “He barely leaves my apartment any more.” You joke. He hums, as if analysing your over-dramatic fable. “Sounds like he might be in love with you.” He drawls, his hands coming to rest on your hips. You smile as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Sounds like you might be right.”


End file.
